Stumbling
by annejanelynam
Summary: Harry Potter believes that he is destined for a sad, lonely life. When he stumbles upon his magic abilities before his Hogwarts letter arrives, he realizes that he can now take control of his own destiny. This will be a retelling of Harry Potter with characters that have their sense of self, morality, and justice.


Chapter 1: A Muggy Morning

The air was still in the cabinet under the stairs. Harry Potter laid quietly on his mattress, beads of sweat pooling on his forehead from a mid-summer heat wave. Harry liked to wake up early, before his Aunt, Uncle and cousin had the opportunity to bulldoze his serenity. This morning, woken earlier than usual by a combination of the heat and a spider scuttling across his face, Harry day dreamed about his parents. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon loved to gloat over his status of "orphan" as a means to justify his near slave-like existence. While they never beat him, they certainly withheld any other necessities of life. He had never felt the tender warmth of a mother's embrace, the pride of a father, or simple pleasure of a soft bed after a long day. But, Harry reasoned, seeing how Dudley, his cousin, turned out after such luxuries made Harry better off in the long run.

This never stopped Harry from imagining what it felt like to be loved. Of course, when he imagined his parents he had to imagine every single aspect of them—from their character to their appearance. Harry had never even seen a picture of his mother and father, much less heard stories of what they were like. Harry was barely able to put together their names, Lily and James. But knowing so little made the experience of day-dreaming even more idyllic. His understanding of his parents was not tainted by reality. In Harry's mind his mother loved to sing as she did the household chores, always wore her hair long and wild like his, and held his hand during thunder storms; his father had a wiry strength to him, he always walked into the house with muddy shoes, and he loved to play football with Harry. During the drudgery of life with the Durseley's Harry often escaped into his fantasy.

Unfortunately, his dream was interrupted rudely by the banging of Aunt Petunia as she clomped down the stairs.

"Boy! You filthy bugger, get UP!" She stage-whispered harshly as she passed the cabinet on her way to the kitchen.

"Yes, ma'am." Harry responded as he slowly pulled himself off of his dusty mattress, careful not hit the stairs. He had recently begun to outgrow his cupboard and wondered what would happen when he could no longer scrunch his body to fit into the tiny space. Surely, Harry prayed optimistically, they wouldn't keep him in the cupboard till he reached his majority. Harry struggled to believe that his prayer would be answered, no matter how fervently he prayed.

Opening up the cupboard door, Harry unfolded himself into the greater space of the corridor, preparing himself for the day. It was Dudley's eleventh birthday. Walking into the kitchen, he could hear the sound of Aunt Petunia preparing Dudley's loot of gifts. As soon as he crossed the doorway, Petunia barked, "Start the breakfast boy, you know better to dawdle!"

Aunt Petunia continued as Harry crossed the kitchen to the stove, "It is Dudders birthday and I will not have you spoil his day with any of your nasty shenanigans. I have half the mind to lock you in that cupboard and forget about you for the rest of the day—but that would only create more work for me and you would quite like that wouldn't you?"

Harry didn't bother to answer, and Petunia paid no mind as she rattled on, "And don't you dare burn that bacon. I bought it especially from the butcher for the occasion and I won't have you spoiling it, why I even try with you-" Petunia was suddenly cut off from her diatribe as the phone rang.

In a shocking change of tone, Petunia sweetly answered the phone, "Durseley Residence, Petunia speaking." While her tone remained sweet, her face changed to a sour prickle as the phone call continued. Sharply hanging up the phone, Petunia swiveled towards Harry.

"Well, I hope you are happy with yourself. Thanks to you Ms. Figg broke her leg and won't be able to watch you while we celebrate Dudley's birthday." Harry was quite shocked at how it could possibly be his fault but remained silent.

"I know you have more filthy tricks up your sleeve and I won't tolerate it. Once you finish that bacon go back to your cupboard. I will lock you in for the day." She looked down at him over her pinched nose as she said this. Harry didn't know how to feel at this proclamation. On one hand, he would have the day completely to himself, free from Dudley's constant torment, no chores or yard work, no purple-faced Vernon yelling in his face. On the other hand, his cupboard, while warm in the evening and early morning became stiflingly hot by midday.

As Harry finished cooking the bacon, his resolve tightened. He would make the most of this day. Before Aunt Petunia could remind him, he scurried into his cupboard and manipulated himself back into the tidy space. No sooner had gotten settled he could hear the click as Aunt Petunia locked him in.

Harry was glad to be in his cabinet once Dudley had lumbered down into kitchen for his birthday breakfast. Though Harry couldn't see him he could easily imagine Dudley's plenty chins as they wiggled with every bite. It was hard to believe that Harry and Dudley were cousins, Harry pondered. Harry was thin and wiry, with a peaked face from always being hungry. His hair was a bright red-orange that shined even in the dark of the cupboard; his hair also stood up at odd angles and the curls were so tight and wild that he often broke combs trying to contain it. As if to make him look even sillier, Harry had a bright red scar shaped like a lightning bolt on his forehead.

The only trait Harry shared with his cousin were his dark brown eyes. Harry imagined, as both Dudley, Aunt Petunia, and Harry had brown eyes that his mother had as well. Dudley had a thick head of straw colored hair and a bulging figure from years of over eating. Unlike Harry, Dudley's hair was easily tamed with a comb and Aunt Petunia's tender care. Yes, Harry decided, he and Dudley were as different as night and day—a comforting thought to Harry who loathed anything remotely connected to Dudley.

Once again, Harry's daydreaming reverie was broken by the cacophony of breakfast noises, as Uncle Vernon joined Petunia and Dudley for breakfast. Though muffled by his cupboard door, Harry could hear as Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon excessively doted on Dudley.

"Why Dudders, I think you have grown since last night! What a big, strapping eleven year old man you are!" Vernon chortled through a mouth full of bacon.

"Your father is quite right Duddy-kins, soon enough you'll be driving and dating, oh!" Petunia sounded close to tears at the thought of her precious baby growing up. Dudley, remained quiet during this exchange. Harry imagined he was busy vacuuming down his breakfast, but he was wrong.

"36! Last year there was 37!" With a start, Harry realized that Dudley must be pointing to the pristine stack of gifts that sat in the corner of the kitchen.

Entertained at the thought of Petunia and Vernon groveling to calm Dudley down, Harry listened on with peaked interest.

"Popkin, some of those gifts are much larger than last year! Much nicer for a big boy like you!" Aunt Petunia soothed, but Dudley's wails grew clearer through the walls of Harry's cupboard.

"Little tike knows what he wants," bellowed Uncle Vernon with a distinct note of pride in his voice, "No worries Dudders, at the zoo we will get you two more presents!"

Dudley's voice quivered, thick with crocodile tears, "And that will be…will be…" He stumbled at he attempted to add two.

"Thirty-eight, love." Aunt Petunia helpfully supplied. From the relative silence that followed, Harry could imagine that the situation had been diverted and Dudley had been pleased with the outcome.

Harry, while entertained, was thoroughly disgusted by Dudley's behavior. For all the nasty names that Harry was called, day in and day out, Dudley was the nasty one. A greedy blight on society, Harry thought inwardly. Harry had never had a birthday party, let alone a birthday gift. Everything he owned was a direct result of the Durseley's begrudging charity or filched out bins at school.

He surveyed his cupboard, which he kept tidy in order to maximize his space. His dusty mattress took up most of the room. At the foot of his "bed" he kept a small stack of neatly folded clothes. The unfinished walls of the cupboard allowed Harry to place his meager belongs on sort of make-shift shelves. A handful of half-broken toy action figures, a tattered legal pad and stubbly crayons, and a few water-damaged paperback books rounded out Harry's belongings. He kept hidden under his pillow, a tiny book lamp that could clip onto the cover of a book. He had received it as a prize at the school fair a couple months ago and it was his prize possession. Now, he could see what he was doing without the Durseley's knowing.

The doorbell rang, startling Harry. Harry knew that it was Piers Polkiss, Dudley's best friend come to meet the Durseley's before heading to the zoo. Soon, he could hear the jostling sounds of coats as the family headed out the door. However, before Vernon left he forcefully pounded on the door of the cupboard.

"Boy, we are exhibiting quite a bit a trust in you. A bit too much if you ask me. But Petunia won't let you spoil Dudder's special day. But I will say this, Boy, if so manage as touch that door, I will make you regret that you were ever born."

Harry didn't respond and waited quietly in the dark for Vernon to leave. For as strange and nasty as Harry supposedly was, the Durseley's always acted as though he had paranormal powers. He was locked in a cupboard—what havoc could he possibly wreck upon the house? But, strange things had a disappointing ability to always happen to Harry. Once, when Aunt Petunia couldn't stand the jungle of red curls on his head any longer, she had shaved him bald. Harry was mortified at his new egg-like appearance, but when he woke up the next day his curls were back with a vengeance. Sometimes, things just happened to Harry and he couldn't explain it.

With the Durseley's out of the house, Harry felt a sense of peace wash over him. It felt good to know that for the next eight hours, he would not have to feel the harsh tempers of his relatives. He laid in cupboard, drawing on his legal pad and daydreaming. The temperature was rising in his small cupboard, but he did his best to ignore his growing discomfort. The sound of the mail briefly caught his attention but he quickly returned to the paradise of his mind.

Soon enough, Harry was no longer uncomfortable, rather he was in agony. The muggy, stagnant air of his cupboard felt suffocating. A thin sheen of sweat covered his entire body and continuously fogged up his glasses. Despite the dampness of the air, his parched dry throat ached. This was worse than he had anticipated. Besides his physical pain, Harry began to feel a rising sense of doom in the pit of his stomach. People died when they were trapped in hot cars, he rationalized. Was he going to die, trapped in his cupboard?

To answer his own question, Harry attempted to think of ways to get out of his cupboard. He was locked in, there was nothing he could do. Another hour passed and Harry was now convinced that he was going to die in his cupboard. He was dazed, and his body was drained of energy. Every part of him hopelessly called for relief. He even tried yelling, knowing that nobody would hear him. In a last ditch effort, Harry pushed at the cupboard door, despite knowing that it was locked. To his shock, the door opened.

"The door had been locked," Harry thought. He had tried to open it earlier in his panic, but his efforts were fruitless. "Never mind that, you idiot," he reprimanded himself. For once his weirdness had helped him. The cool draft that began to circulate his cupboard felt like heaven and he was eager to embrace it. He pushed the door all the open and slowly crawled out of the cupboard. All at once, his skin began to cool. His dry and painful throat beckoned him to the kitchen where he quickly drank a glass of cold water and then slowly sipped a second.

While still uncomfortable, Harry no longer felt in danger of death. This allowed him to survey his new situation. The clock over the stove told him that it was just barely noon. He still had six-hours before the Durseley's arrived home. Never in his life had Harry felt so much freedom. His day had suddenly transformed from a miserable day, locked in the cupboard to the best day of his life.

Quietly, as if the Durseleys were still there to hear him, Harry padded from the kitchen to living room. He settle himself onto a squashy lounge-chair extravagantly. Why had the door opened for him? For the first time in his life, he thought that the Durseleys were right. Maybe there was something unnatural about him, and maybe that unnaturalness had just saved his life.

All of his life, Harry had resented the shame that came with his inherent weirdness. His weirdness had meant that he was never loved by the Durseleys, meant that he lived in a cupboard under the stairs, and meant that he was bullied at school. Being unnatural, whether Harry believed himself to be unnatural or not, had forced him to live a sad, lonely life.

"What if," Harry thought, "I take my weirdness and control it? No matter what, I will be weird, but now I could control it." Suddenly, Harry remembered a book he read in primary school, about a little girl that could control things with her mind. What if Harry could do that?

Harry jumped out of his squashy lounge chair and grabbed a picture of Dudley riding the Ferris Wheel off of the fireplace mantle. He gently placed the picture on the ground. The book never went into detail of how the little girl moved things with her mind, but Harry figured that concentrating was a good place to start. Intent Harry focused his entire being on moving the photograph, his tired body aching with exertion. Suddenly, the picture wiggle.

"No," thought Harry, "It didn't wiggle, I am being silly." And he did feel very silly, standing in the living room trying to move a photograph with his mind.

"Uncle Vernon must have jostled the lock," that's why the door opened. The reality hit Harry that he wasn't unnatural or special—he just had rotten luck. He now felt worse than ever; his body still tired from his recent scare in the cupboard, his embarrassment from trying to move the photography, and the sad reality that he wasn't special was almost too much to bear. Despite the freedom of having reign of the house for the afternoon, Harry felt an immense wave of sadness.

He despondently sat back down on the lounge chair as he felt the unfamiliar tightening of his throat. "No. I will not cry," He told himself steely. He never cried—at least he hadn't in ages. However, his resolve failed him as he felt his eye begin to moisten and his breathing become ragged. Now totally out of control, Harry let out a stifled sob. He just wanted some good in his life—even if it was unnatural. To make matters worse, he suddenly felt a sharp pain in his stomach. He opened his eyes and there on his lap was…the photograph.


End file.
